


We Band of Brothers

by TwinEnigma



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman Beyond
Genre: Bat Family, Brothers, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:02:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinEnigma/pseuds/TwinEnigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In one future, Damian Wayne serves as mentor to the younger brothers he'd never expected.  A series of one-shots of varying length, in no order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Start

**Author's Note:**

> _Disclaimer: I don't do this for money and I don't own Batman, Batman Beyond or related characters._

Damian Wayne was waiting for him when he returned to the cave, melting from the shadows with a stealth that seemed unreal for a sickly man who required a cane to move. It was hard to believe that this man had been superheroing since before Terry was born, first as Robin under his father - Bruce Wayne, the original Batman - and then as Batman himself.

“So I guess you’ll be wanting this back now, Mr. Wayne,” Terry said, taking off the cowl.

He did not expect the retired superhero to turn away, much less the words that next issued from his mouth. “Keep it.”

Terry stared, wide eyed, at him.

“You did well for your first time,” Damian said, pausing. He then looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, and asked, “You interested in a _job,_ McGinnis?”


	2. A Sharp Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian reflects on Neo Gotham's new Dynamic Duo and is struck by the similarities to another.

Most of the time, being the Bat behind the latest incarnation of Batman and Robin wasn’t too bad for Damian Wayne. At first, it had been a bit rough as Terry and Matt defined the difference between what was Terry and what was Batman giving the orders, but as time went on, the brothers figured it out. Training wasn’t so bad either - both brothers were extremely tenacious and, in many ways, reminded Damian of himself.

Of course, that was to be expected, given that they were his younger half-brothers (though the disturbing matter of _how_ this had come to pass was an entirely separate matter).

In a way, it was rather comforting for Damian to know that his father’s legacy was being carried on, even if by the grace of his still blissfully unwitting younger half-brothers.

But then, some nights, they’d come back from patrol with takeaway coffee and pizza and Terry would laugh in a way that was _too much_ like Dick as he ruffled his little brother’s hair; then Matt would make this _tt_ sound through his teeth just like Damian does and, suddenly, Damian is ten and Robin again, sitting in a diner across from Dick in the Batsuit with one of those ridiculous content grins. In that moment, the echo cuts deep and painful.

But… somehow, it’s how it should be.

And he can live with that.


	3. A Lasting Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian isn't nice. Sometimes he surprises Terry, though.

It’s the height of weird.

Damian Wayne is not nice. He’s a hardass. He fires stealth compliments under the cover of insults. He pushes constantly, never giving even an inch until Terry gets back up and gets the job done.

And then there are moments like these, where Damian turns around and does something that completely throws Terry off kilter.

It’s like he _knows_ exactly when Terry’s two seconds away from tossing in the towel completely because he can’t be like the Batman of legend or about to explode with frustration at the lack of trust in his skills or when it’s just one of _those_ days where Terry’s past eats at his very soul. Then Damian _smiles_ and suddenly there’s this hand there to pick him up or on his shoulder, achingly genuine words of encouragement and assured trust filling the holes.

It’s strange, because it’s not like him at all. It’s like someone else is there, a presence that lightens the very air, and it has somehow dyed Damian in its colors in ways that only show at times like these, when he feels absolutely at rock bottom.

When Terry asks, Damian laughs and says, “A little bird once told me.”

Then things go back to normal, until the next time Damian slips on patrol or in training and this ghost of someone rises to the surface to fly. And when it does, Terry believes that maybe he really does belong here with all those who have come before him. His past doesn’t matter, not to this man whom he has come to adopt as brother or the legacy he has come to call his own inheritance, a legacy born not of blood ties but of honor and duty.

He is a Bat, like his brothers before him. For Gotham, he will bleed.

“I’ll catch you,” Damian promises, a sincere echo of someone Terry has never met, someone who he thinks must once have given Damian the same chance.

Terry knows he will.

It’s nice. Nice, but weird. It’s not Damian. Damian’s not nice. But someone had been, someone important, and it must have rubbed off on him. It’s the only explanation that makes sense, slag it.

And then the shift comes, like a shiver of a cowl or a mask settling back into place and the big brother persona disappears behind the pushy, demanding hardass. “Enough sentimental nonsense! Now, move it, McGinnis! They’re not going to wait for you to finish your pizza!”

Terry rolls his eyes as things go back to normal.


	4. Vague Sense Of Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry contemplates the uniforms in the display cases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight Spoilers for "Time and the Batman"

There are a lot of old suits on display in the cave. Most of them look like they’ve seen better days and sometimes, mostly when the old man thinks he’s alone, Terry’s caught him looking at them.

Terry knows the history behind them – or a good portion of it, anyway – even coming in. The oldest one belonged to Damian’s father, the original Batman, until he died. The one with the red bird logo was Nightwing’s – Nightwing was always popular in Gotham. Then there were the Robin costumes. He’d known, every kid in Gotham did, that the Batman had a sidekick for the longest time – Robin – and even now, there are kids that dream of suiting up and playing him, but Terry never knew how many there had been before he came here. One of them, he knows, was Damian’s. The others are a mystery and Damian doesn’t talk about the past.

There are a lot of old Batsuits too, but only one really ever gave Terry pause. It was displayed right next to the suit he’d taken for himself – a heavy Batsuit, the bat integrated into the upper part of the suit, and the collar turned up like a trench coat. It is very neo-Noir and somewhat reminds him of the Grey Ghost film he’d gone to as a kid, only infinitely realer. He knows, somehow, that if he were to touch it, he’d feel heavy mesh-patterned armor underneath the cloth. For some reason, the suit also reminds him of safety in the same strange way Damian’s voice always has.

Damian catches him looking at it once and he gets a funny look on his face, as if the older man wants to ask him a question that might sound crazy.

Terry doesn’t blame him.

It _is_ sort of weird.

He can’t remember ever seeing any of the Batsuits before breaking in here, but he definitely knows that suit, somehow. 

One day, he may ask Damian about it.


	5. Grounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt doesn't appreciate being left out.

Matt growls as his fist connects with its target and pulverizes the plasteel beneath, the augmented Robin uniform ramping up his hits to near-Meta levels. Two-Face, Penguin, the Riddler and Killer Croc flank him on all sides, each one a varied but constant threat – all of them robotic illusions of villains he’d once considered part of Gotham’s urban legends. They’re a poor substitute for the one face he really does want to hit.

He jumps, spinning as he’s been trained to, and lashes out with his arms as he comes out of it, releasing a hail of red shuriken into the midst of the training bots. It leaves him with enough of a window to charge up the taser-knuckles and pound them into the head of the bot directly in front of him. The holographic projection of the Riddler crackles and pixelates before it finally fails, revealing the damaged bot underneath.

He’s already moving, rolling onto his back to avoid the grasp of Killer Croc, and slams his feet straight up into the training bot’s jaw with an audible crunch. The same impact tech that makes this suit able to take a beating makes his otherwise normal hits exceed the force necessary to crush plasteel and it shows in the way the bot staggers and sparks. A low sweep puts it on its back next to the other disabled bot.

The two remaining bots open fire – paintball pellets, thankfully – but the reaction it elicits in Matt is now instinctive. He moves, not away from the fire, but into it, using the suit’s augmented speed to get right up and under the Two-Face bot. He disables the arm with the gun first and then uses the combination of his momentum and the impact accelerators to fling it around and into the Penguin bot.

They collide with a crunch and shower of sparks, but do not get back up.

Breathing hard, Matt balls his hands into fists and resists the urge to grind his teeth in frustration.

Terry, that utter _slagging_ assbutt, had grounded him.

It wasn’t fair at _all_.

He’s not eight anymore: he’s twelve and he’s _Robin_ , slag it. Terry lost the right to tell him kicking ass was too dangerous for kids the second he’d suited up for the first time, the hypocrite.

“Hard at work, I see.”

Matt’s head jerks in the direction of the all-too-familiar voice of their mentor and watches as the older man seems to melt out of the shadows with envious ease.

Damian leans on his cane as he examines the wreckage of the bots. “That’s the second batch this week,” he comments dryly, “I suppose I’ll have to expand the Batarang Budget again.”

It’s the kind of obvious statement of things that his mentor has a knack for saying, if and when he feels like starting a conversation. Matt grunts and starts to look away. He’s in no mood for it. After all, the old man had backed up his brother when he’d said no.

A faint smile graces the former Batman’s face and he adds: “Your form has improved.”

Matt snorts, crossing his arms in an effort to keep silent.

“Being upset is hardly conducive,” Damian states, abandoning all pretense. “Your brother has his reasons for keeping you off this case.”

_“Shut up, twip. I’ve got my reasons. You stay here.”_

Matt glares at his mentor as his body seems to turn of its own accord and his hands, balled into fists, drop to his sides. “His _reasons?_ ” he shouts. “I’m his _partner!_ I should be out there with him!”

The former Batman is eerily calm and there is a strange sort of tone to his voice when he speaks: “You’re also his little brother.”

“Yeah, and we’re supposed to look out for each other!” Matt fires back. “How the slamming hell am I supposed to do that if I’m _here_?”

_Why won’t he trust me?_

Damian’s eyes slide closed and for a moment, he looks a lot older than he is. At last, he asks, “Matt, do you trust your brother?”

Matt starts to open his mouth to answer and then suddenly stops.

He trusts in Batman’s skills and experience without hesitation. But Terry? Does he trust in Terry?

“Yeah,” he admits quietly.

“Then prove it,” Damian states, placing a hand on Matt’s shoulder. “Let him handle this one.”

Matt lowers his head, taking a deep breath. Then, slowly he opens them again. “Okay.”

His mentor raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll just sneak out later,” Matt adds, smirking. “I hear it’s a Robin tradition.”

Damian snorts and shakes his head, but he is smiling – _really smiling_. He reaches over and ruffles Matt’s hair, ignoring the twelve year old’s mild protest. “I suppose it is, twip.”


	6. Only To Be Expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry and Damian prepare for a meeting with someone from Damian's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight spoilers for _Batman Beyond Season 3: "Out Of The Past"_

The hotel looms above them as they pull up, a towering edifice of Upper Gotham elegance cut in efficient, smooth lines and sleek, highly polished plate glass. It does little to betray the opulence of the interior. A valet makes his way down the stairs at a clipped, but tidy pace as they pull up and Terry quietly waves him away.

His blue eyes flick to the mirror, boring into those that are almost the exact shade as his own.

“It’s a trap, you know that, right?” Terry says, at last.

Damian leans on his cane and smiles, one of those knowing grins that honestly gives Terry chills. “Naturally. I’d be shocked if it wasn’t.”

There is a part of Terry that squirms uncomfortably at the casual way his mentor says it. After all, it’s his _mother_ he’s talking about, not some random super villain. Then again, this is _Talia al Ghul_ that awaits them inside, a child of the League of Assassins through and through, and to underestimate her would be fatal.

“And you still want to do this?” Terry asks, even though he already knows what the erstwhile Bat will say.

Damian’s eyes are flat as they meet his in the rearview mirror and his tone is clipped: “She’s up to something. We need to find out whatever it is, _fast_. If it means playing along for the time being, then so be it.”

Terry nods. 

The offer to heal Damian’s battered body has come a little too conveniently for either of their liking. It almost seems out of character for Talia, given what little Terry knows of her relationship with his mentor. _Estranged_ would be putting it mildly.

“Be ready,” Damian says, leaning forward on his cane as he reaches for the door handle. “And don’t let me out of your sight.”

Terry smirks, nodding. “Roger, old man.”

Damian gives him a brief withering look before turning away, but it’s not quick enough and Terry catches a glimpse of the barest hint of an amused grin even as his mentor calls him a brat.

He resists the urge to smile himself and grabs his bag, the parts of the Batsuit he couldn’t hide under his clothes inside. Then, fearlessly, he follows his mentor into the leviathan’s maw.


	7. Uncanny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is something familiar about the McGinnis boy, something that Damian can't quite place his finger on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Takes place after "A Start"_

There is something about the McGinnis kid that bothers Damian. He can’t quite place his finger on it at first. It’s not his attitude or the way he carries himself, per se, or even the rather galling knowledge that the brat had somehow got into the cave and stole the experimental Batsuit while Damian was passed out. It’s something else entirely, something that, for the first time in years, resonates with memories of a time long since passed.

Terry McGinnis is somehow familiar to him, more than he has any sense being. According to his case files, they had only briefly crossed paths once, years ago, when the boy was little more than a toddler and the Laughing Death rendered the people of Lower Gotham into little more than a ravenous, insane mob. After that, he’d had no contact with the child. And yet, Damian _knows_ him, better perhaps than even Terry does himself.

Perhaps, he supposes, it is the fact that they have both lost their fathers. Perhaps it is that they are both children of a divorce – albeit in Damian’s case, the _divorce_ , if he could even call it that, was _far_ from amicable. It could even be that he sees something of himself in the boy’s eyes; he knows what it’s like to have a past full of mistakes and things that can never be taken back. He knows all too well how it feels to wish he could go back and try harder to be a better brother, a better _son_.

He knows about the anger, the guilt, the sense of _loss_ that never goes away.

Still, it is not enough to justify the strong sense of familiarity he gets from McGinnis. No, there must be something else, something he’s missing.

Damian doesn’t like being stumped like this.

The Cave computer pings suddenly, alerting him that the boy has accessed the gate. Sighing, the once-Bat uses his cane to get to his feet and slowly makes his way upstairs. There’s no need to rush. There’s a lot to go over before he sends McGinnis out for his first _official_ patrol – rules, protocols, etcetera.

Idly, Damian wonders when he’d turned into his father.

He emerges in the study to find that McGinnis is already there; the boy has his back to him, totally focused on a portrait of Martha and Thomas Wayne with a much younger, happier version of his father. It’s a portrait that Damian has always found unsettling for the way it seemed to highlight just how much he truly does resemble his father and how very little he takes after his mother. It makes him look less like his father's son and more like his father's clone.

McGinnis pipes up: “Nice portrait – your folks?”

“My grandparents,” Damian replies.

“They look nice.”

“They were, supposedly. I never knew them.”

The boy turns to face him and Damian is barely able to hide his surprise.

When the kid had crashed into the gates with a hornet’s nest of Jokerz on his ass, he’d been far more concerned with keeping the brat alive and he hadn’t bothered to get a good look at the boy. Then, he’d been more concerned with the brat who’d stolen the Batsuit and, after that, with knowing the type of person who he’d possibly be letting take up this sacred legacy.

And now he thinks he gets _why_ the kid seems familiar.

It’s in the boy’s eyes.

He knows these eyes.

They are _his_ eyes – _Wayne_ eyes, the same ones he’d inherited from his father. And taken with the boy’s face, his hair, and the way he stands in front of that portrait like a dull echo of the boy therein with that all-too-familiar bristling glare, it is patently uncanny how much McGinnis resembles him. It can’t just be coincidence: the overall resemblance is just _too_ strong for that, though he’d need a test to be _sure_.

And yet, it’s highly improbable that it should be anything other than coincidence.

Damian _knows_ he has only met Mary McGinnis two times in his life and both times revolved around returning her son to her. If he had met her before, he would recall it, surely, and she would have been far too young when his father was killed, so that too is impossible. Those possibilities eliminated, it leaves only ones that wouldn’t be open to just anyone and that fewer still would have the audacity or patience to attempt. 

He definitely senses another hand in this, one that the boy might not even be aware of, and the thought is unsettling. It brings to mind his mother’s plan to mold him, genetically, physically and psychologically, into both a perfect heir of his father and a perfect heir of the al Ghul.

Could someone else have had the same idea? Could he have overlooked something in the boy’s files? There has to be _some_ evidence as to what is going on here.

“You gonna stare at me all night, old man, or are we going to do this?” the boy demands, unslinging his backpack from his shoulders. 

“Old man?” Damian repeats deadpan and is somewhat amused by the brief flash of panic that flickers across the boy’s face. Damian raises an eyebrow and turns around, beckoning for the boy to follow him.

It is certainly possible that whatever shenanigans are afoot, the boy is innocent of – or, at the very least, unwitting of his place in them. There is a mystery here and he will get to the bottom of it, come hell or high water.

But, for right now, there is justice to be done and he has a Batman to train.

If the brat turns out to be blood, then so much the better.

It’s always been a family business, anyway.


	8. Expert Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terry doesn't like the idea of his brother going out in the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before "Grounded"

_“Wayne!”_

Damian, hunched over his worktable, pauses in his task and looks up, a small, damning pile of red and black material in front of him.

Terry feels his gut lurch at the betrayal, but it is anger and fear that push him down the stairs and right up to the worktable to glare at the man he has come to trust and respect. “What in slammin’ hell you think you’re doin’, old man?”

“Preparing a suit for your brother,” the former Batman says, as if it were of little more import than walking his dog.

“No way,” Terry says sharply, jabbing his finger at the older man. “I’m not going to let you send him out there. Matt’s just a _kid_ – slag it, at least _I_ knew what I was getting into!”

“Did you, now?” Damian asks placidly, a single eyebrow arched in skepticism.

Terry hates it when he does that, especially when he knows the old man’s got a point. He glares at his mentor as he acidly states, “I knew a hell of a lot more than he does. And I figured you, of all people, would back me up on this, not…”

Terry pauses, gesturing to the pile of red and black material in frustration.

Damian sighs heavily, putting down his soldering iron, and gives Terry one of _those_ looks, as if he’s being deliberately difficult and unreasonable. It’s infuriating and almost always makes him feel like he’s being treated like some stupid little kid, something he hasn’t been in _years_.

“Look, he’s my kid brother,” Terry says, backing off a little. He runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to calm himself, but it’s not working very well. “He could get hurt or _worse_ and I _can’t_ …”

There is a gaping moment of silence, filled only by the distant echoes of bats and the shadows falling over memorial cases.

“I know,” Damian says with an eerie solemnity. He stands, moving slowly with his cane, and stops, looking out over the sprawling breadth of the Batcave beneath them before he finally speaks again: “Did I ever tell you how I became Robin?”

Terry approaches his mentor, frowning a little. Why now, of all times, does the old man decide to get all sentimental and share-happy?

“I beat up Drake, stole Todd’s old suit and snuck out,” Damian states with a grin. “I was _ten_. My father nearly had a _fit_ when I got back, but he didn’t make me give the suit back.”

Damian’s face falls a little then, his gaze lowering as if lost in a distant memory, and when he speaks again, it is almost sad: “Kids dream of being Batman, Terry. Imagine finding out your father _is_ Batman. Once I knew, there wasn’t a force on this earth that could have stopped me.”

Terry snorts, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the floor. “So, what are you saying? I don’t have a choice?”

“I’m _saying_ that he’s going to find a way to go out, with or without your approval,” Damian states plainly, rolling his eyes. “The least we can do is to make sure he has the training and equipment he’ll need to survive.”

Almost automatically, Terry finds himself saying, “Matt’s not like that.”

“Come on, McGinnis, you know as well as I do that’s a lie,” Damian says, turning back towards the workbench. “You’re his big brother. He _cares_ about you and you’re just as much an idol to him as Batman is. Do you really think he can sit there and watch you get hurt now that he knows you’re one and the same?”

Terry bows his head and looks away. He really, really hates it when the old man has a point.

“I didn’t think so,” Damian states somberly and sits back down at the workbench.

Slowly, Terry makes his way over to the workbench and looks over the materials. He’s seen enough of the inner workings of his own suit to get a vague idea of what his mentor’s building into the suit. It’s going to be pretty tough and his brother will definitely be safe in it. Yet, he’s still uneasy about the concept of his baby brother donning it and all that means.

At last, he pulls up a chair and drops into it. “I don’t think I can do it. Working with my brother, I mean.”

For a moment, there is a flash of something that flickers across his mentor’s face and then Damian relaxes with one hand on his ruined leg. “It’ll be rough at first, but it will get easier. You’ll just have to ride out the part where he thinks he knows everything.”

At that, Terry shoots him an ugly look. As if he _needs_ the reminder his brother’s not going to want to listen to him.

Damian smirks. “Remind me to tell you about my first year as Robin someday. You’ll have a whole new respect for Grayson.”

Terry raises an eyebrow skeptically.


End file.
